“No. I’ll spend the night here, if I may. Then we’ll see how long I stay. Let’s sleep on it first. I’m not expected home immediately. I’m on leave.”
“And where are you living nowadays? Kharkov, is it?”
“Chernigov. Do you know it?”
“Course, I do. I’ve been. Before the war, it was. Just before too. At the foot of Trinity Hill, that’s where I stayed. Tikhaya Street. That’s right, isn’t it?”
My heart pounded. Trinity Hill again.
“And who was it you stayed with, Mikola Ivanovich?”
“What a man he was! A Jew. Something akin to a rabbi. Do you know what that is, a rabbi?”
“A Jewish priest.”
“Aye, if you like. And a philosopher to boot. Zusel, they called him. Tabachnik. I used to go and see him specially, just to chat. We served together in the first war. He was a volunteer. Of his own acc
